


Sacrifice

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And more than a bit not good, Angst, Blackmail, Drug Use, Emetophobia, Face-Fucking, Facials, Frottage, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mild Voyeurism, Mycroft only thinks of Sherlock as a brother, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sherlock does not participate, Sherlock is a Mess, Threesome - M/M/M, Vague as to whether these feelings are due to drugs or not, one-sided Sherlock Holmes/Mycroft Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mycroft would do anything to protect his little brother. Anything.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Original Male Character(s), Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Anonymous





	Sacrifice

Sherlock lay in a pile of men and clothing, eyes half-lidded and dull as he gazed out into the mid distance. Mycroft wrinkled his nose. The room smelled acrid and stale, like the air wasn’t circulating and hadn’t been for days. Days. His brother had been missing for days. Had he been here the entire time? Someone in the pile groaned. Another began to weep. 

“So it’s him right?” Asked the man who’d let Mycroft into the hidden-away room. Mycroft nodded. “Thought so.” The man scratched at his patchy beard. He was wearing a camo jacket with an american flag painted on the back though his accent was from Burnley. He’d initially whistled at Mycroft’s accent, eyeing his watch which Mycroft made no effort to hide - had put on for the express purpose of enticing the man with payment. Sherlock was bound to have run up a tab.

“I’ll take him home immediately.” Mycroft said, taking a step forward and crouching down beside his brother who looked at him distantly, as if he were a stranger or a figment. His thin lips began to form a word but quickly fell still again as his gaze wandered. 

“Sherlock? It’s your brother. I’m here to take you home.” Mycroft said, placing a hand on his brother’s arm. 

Sherlock shook it off and curled away from him, causing someone to grunt and push him away. Sherlock whined and Mycroft was reminded of when they were both young and Sherlock would crawl into his bed with a nightmare, eyes shining with tears. _“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”_ Mycroft would tell him, stroking his hair.

There was a noise from behind him and Mycroft looked up to see that the man had stepped closer, eyes darting between the brothers and the door. “You know he’s racked up a tab.” He said almost conversationally, shrugging with his hands in his pockets. “Said someone was coming to pay it. That you?”

Mycroft fought down the spark of anger that Sherlock’s consciousness of yet disregard for Mycroft’s time and energy spent hunting him down ignited. “Yes.” He said smoothly. “I brought seven hundred pounds and if that’s not satisfactory you could probably sell this.” He said, elegantly removing and holding out his watch. 

The man took a hand from his pocket, fingers twitching, but stopped short of taking the watch. He sniffed, rubbing his nose with the hand instead. “He uh...He promised a different sort of payment.”

Mycroft blinked at him, smiling thinly. “If you’ll show me to an ATM I’ll be happy to withdraw more-”

“Nah, a different sort. Not money, guv.” The man said, excitement showing on his face. He was clearly enjoying Mycroft’s confusion. Mycroft saw suddenly, upon allowing himself to care the least bit about the man before him, that he was a lackey. Low on the totem pole, left to guard a room of people too high to care whether they lived or died. The momentary power was thrilling. 

“What sort of payment.” Mycroft asked, eyes narrowing as he glanced towards Sherlock who was stirring behind him. He was pointing towards the water damaged ceiling and murmuring something about the migration patterns of seagulls. 

“You know…” The man said unhelpfully. “...He’s real pretty. Never really has nothing else to give.”

Mycroft’s mouth went dry because he did know then and suddenly the room was too small and all its filth felt magnified. 

“He had a bit of money this time but it ran out. So he said to put on his tab. That you’d pay the usual way. _He_ said that _the usual way._ ” The man said, pointing towards Sherlock emphatically. 

Mycroft rose to his feet, expression freezing the man on the spot. “I am not beholden to the words of a drug addict.” He hissed, grabbing Sherlock’s arm as his brother fought him. “I am leaving with my-”

“Holmes. Holmes, c’mere.” The man suddenly shouted. Sherlock froze his incessant wriggling and turned to him. “You want more?” The man asked, voice softening as he held out a small baggie. “Here.”

Mycroft grabbed for the baggie but Sherlock was quicker, snatching it from the man’s hands and huddling over it as Mycroft tried to wrestle it away. By the time he managed to wrench it from his brother’s hands it was nearly empty and Sherlock was snickering at his efforts. Mycroft stared at him. His little brother’s curls looked wild and his eyes were fully dilated. A thin trail of blood ran down his lip from his nose, turning the white powder red. 

The man pulled Sherlock towards him. “Do you wanna pay now? I’ll give you more. Loads more where that came from.” He snaked a hand down Sherlock’s pants and began to bite a hickey into his neck. Sherlock moaned, bucking his hips up. The man grinned at Mycroft who watched the scene with muted horror. Sherlock wouldn’t go with him. 

“So, whad’ya think? We make him pay?” Mycoft’s stomach churned at the use of ‘we.’ He suddenly felt very tired. Exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and walk from the disgusting room and the decrepit old building and this man and his brother who hadn’t loved him since they were children and would never love him again no matter what he did. But when he closed his eyes he thought of Sherlock at seven, eyes wide and wet with tears. 

_“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”_

Mycoft opened his eyes, looking at the water-damaged ceiling and listening to his brother moan at the hands of a drug dealer he didn’t know, half out of his mind. More than half. He heard something unzip.

“I’ll do it.” He said to the ceiling, trying to deduce what the room had been used for before all this, years ago. “I’ll pay.”

The man was jumpy in his eagerness, tossing Sherlock aside and striding towards Mycroft. “On your knees then.” He said. Mycroft hesitated before sinking down to his knees as instructed. The man looked down at him, clawing at his jeans in an attempt to unzip them. Mycroft watched. He figured from his hands that the other man had been a doctor once. 

“You’re real pretty you know that?” He said. “Not as pretty as your brother but I’m not shallow as all that.” Mycroft shivered at the compliment and the man seemed to take it positively, threading a hand through Mycroft’s hair as he finally unzipped his jeans. The man’s cock was already red with arousal and leaking pre-cum down his shaft. 

“Wait.” Mycroft said, placing a hand on the man’s thigh. “Sherlock-” He turned to see where his brother was and saw that he’d moved back onto the pile where he’d been before, eyes closed. For a second Mycroft’s heart stopped before he saw he was still breathing. The man jerked Mycroft’s head back to look at him.

“Don’t worry about him. Pay attention to me.” He growled, tugging Mycroft forward and thrusting into his mouth.

Mycroft choked at the sudden intrusion, using his hand to push on the man’s thigh in an attempt to get some air but the man only pulled his head further along his cock causing Mycroft to make a strangled noise.

“Fuck…” The man grunted, starting to thrust regularly into Mycroft’s mouth. “If you bite me I’m gonna fuck your brother, you get me? He’s gonna beg me to.”

Mycroft began to breathe through his nose, remembering that he could. The shock of it all was disorienting him. He couldn’t help but make noise as the man fucked into his mouth and the noises made his stomach churn, face burning with shame. The man moaned when he opened his eyes and saw him.

“Nah...prettier than your brother. Holmes would never blush like that.” The wet noise of sex was loud in the echoing room and Mycroft closed his eyes, feeling a tear begin to form in the corner of his eye. He wondered what his father would think of them. His geniuses. One of them too high to know what was real and the other on his knees sucking a stranger’s cock. 

Before the thought could linger Mycroft startled as another man rose from the pile and pulled him from the other man who shouted in dismay at losing his mouth. The new man was crying and seemed to have been for a while, fresh tears running down dried tracks.

“Gwen…” He cried. “Oh Gwen…” And then he kissed Mycroft, ramming a tongue into his mouth. Mycroft made surprised noise, trying to move away from the man but he only pulled him closer, continuing to kiss him as he began to tease his nipples. Against his wishes Mycroft moaned, sensitive to the touch.

“Frank, that ain’t Gwen.” The man in front of them said, cross at the turn of events. 

“Gwen…” Frank cried again, trying to unbutton Mycroft’s shirt before deciding to tear it instead. Mycroft gasped as the man began to abuse his nipples, feeling himself start to harden. He moaned then covered his mouth, face burning with embarrassment.

“Gwen, why’d you leave me?”  
“Listen, Frank. _Gwen_ here still owes me something so if you don’t mind…” The man grabbed Mycroft by the hair again, pulling him painfully from Frank’s grasp and back onto his waiting cock. Mycroft’s head felt light and empty as Frank followed his body upwards, beginning to rut against him. 

“Fuck...you do this often?” The man asked and Mycroft fought back the urge to bite him. He was doing this for Sherlock. For Sherlock. He moaned as Frank began to fondle him again and the man’s cock was shoved even deeper down his throat. He’d had sex before but nothing like this. Animalistic. Feral. He wished he could be out of his mind like Sherlock. 

“Someone likes the show.” The man remarked, smirking. Mycroft made a noise as Frank began to moan in his ear that he was close. Mycroft thought of cutting his losses and killing everyone in the room. 

The man suddenly pulled Mycroft off of his cock and Mycroft took a gasping breath, coughing. The man laughed at his struggle, turning him so he could see behind him. “Look.”

He did.

Sherlock was still lying in the pile but had taken himself in hand and was lazily jerking off, pants shoved down to his thighs. His cock was stiff with arousal and his eyes were on Mycroft and the men, glassy but unmoving. Mycroft felt his chest tighten and a strangled sob wracked him as grief filled him. Sherlock shouldn’t be watching. Sherlock shouldn’t be enjoying this. Why was-? 

“Let’s give him a show, hm? Since he was so eager.” Before Mycroft could quite register what was happening the man was fucking his mouth again, fast now, pace unforgiving, allowing him no air. Drool dribbled down Mycroft’s chin as tears ran down his cheeks and Frank began thrusting behind him, as if he were fucking him through their clothes. The cold air made Mycroft’s nipples hard and the stimulation from the two men was enough to arouse his own cock which pressed painfully against his trousers and which he refused to touch. 

“I’m almost there...almost there...fuck…” The man cried, using Mycroft’s mouth like a toy, jostling his head until he pressed in as far as he could go. Mycroft choked as semen filled his mouth, running down his lips. The man slowly continued to thrust into Mycroft’s mouth until he was fully spent, slowly pulling his softening penis out. A thick string of cum connected them for a moment before it snapped and Mycroft fell to the floor, coughing and retching up water and semen. 

Another pair of hands grabbed him and Mycroft stared as Frank pulled him closer, hand around his cock.  
“Poor guy.” The man above them said. There was a click and fresh smoke filled the room. 

“Gwen…” Frank moaned, rising to his knees. Mycroft, realizing what was happening, began to move backwards but was pushed forwards again by the man above him who secured his head in place.

“Go on big guy, _Gwen_ here can’t wait for it.” He said, voice faraway.   
Mycroft winced as Frank came thick ribbons of semen across his face. The man whistled, combing it back into Mycroft’s hair. 

“Pent up.” He remarked. Just then Sherlock cried out and all eyes turned to him as he came into his palm before collapsing into the pile again. The man’s grip on Mycroft released and he stood up, heading towards the door.

“Get him outta here.” He said, sounding suddenly annoyed. “Then fuck off.”

He shut the door with a slam that reverberated around the room. Frank was lying on the floor now, whimpering for Gwen to hold him. Mycroft sat for a moment, semen coating his tongue and running down his face, painfully hard and numb with humiliation. He felt small. Hurt. Dirty.

A hand grabbed his arm and Mycroft flinched, trying to pull away but the hand came back with more force. “I knew you’d come.” Sherlock said, eyes unfocused as he wiped Mycroft’s face with the sleeve of his coat. “I figured something out about the Dollan case. The one with the birds, you’ve seen it in the papers I assume.”

Mycroft fought the urge to reach over and snap his useless brother’s neck. He fought the urge to burst into tears and hold his baby brother close. Instead of doing either he stood and pulled Sherlock up with him who now leaned heavily against him, following him as he walked towards the door.

“Are we leaving?”  
“Yes.” Mycroft said tightly.  
“I need to pay.” Sherlock murmured as Mycroft reached the door, pulling it open.  
“It’s fine, Sherlock.” Mycroft said, anger heavy in his chest.

“No, I said...they’re going to do something to you. I said something stupid. You have to go.” Mycroft froze, chest heaving. He fell down to the dead grass outside and retched water again. He felt dizzy. The air was good. The air was fresh and cold. 

“Myc?” Sherlock asked from somewhere above him. He sounded so soft. So lost. Mycroft felt grief and anger roll over him in waves. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He would do this a thousand times over. That was his job.

_“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. What was your dream about?”_

_“It’s stupid.”_

_“People have found that discussing disturbing dreams helps soothe the mind.”_

_“We’re not people.”_

_“It’s merely a suggestion.”_

_“...I dreamed you hated me.”_

_“That I hated you?”_

_“I wanted to play with you and said to go away. You said you hated me and you never wanted to talk to me again.”_

_“Sherlock, I could never hate you.”_

_“You might. A lot of people hate me.”_

_“Yes, but never me.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

_“Ok. I’ll never hate you either.”_

_“I’ve never worried about that.”_

.  
.  
.  
Sherlock woke up in a hospital with his brother standing over him. His head was pounding. He felt heavy. He’d just woken up from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He wondered for a moment if Mycroft had been alerted by it somehow before realizing that he was in a hospital and Mycroft had probably taken him there.

“Why am I here?” He asked, glaring at his older brother who gave him a thin smile, perfectly pressed as always. Sherlock hated how he always went everywhere dressed to the nines, especially when he came to see him. It made him feel like he was gloating, making fun of him for his weakness.

“Because I found you out of your mind on cocaine.” He said mildly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned, headache strengthening. “And before you ask, no, you may not have pain medication and you may not have money.”

The word money poked at a memory Sherlock couldn’t quite recall. He got a sinking feeling that he’d done something horrible to Mycroft but when he turned to look at him he could see nothing wrong with the other man. Mycroft tilted his head slightly and a flash of something played out over his face but Sherlock was too distracted by pain and illness to grasp it. He closed his eyes.

“Tired?” Mycroft asked. A familiar hatred rose in Sherlock’s chest.

“Fuck off.” He spat. “Just fuck off if you’re going to be like this.” He laughed. “Why did you even come?”

“Because I care about you, brother mine.” Mycroft said. 

Sherlock laughed again, the pain making his head feel like it was full of something and about to explode with the mass of it.

“Sure you do. Come on, isn’t it time we give up that particular charade? We hate each other. It’s fine. You can say it.” He opened his eyes, grinning. “You-” 

The look on Mycroft’s face wiped his grin clear off. It was like a storm, a dark and rumbling hatred that sent Sherlock into a cold sweat. And then the clouds parted and Mycroft’s expression got worse - it turned into a heartbreak so clear it nearly broke Sherlock’s. He felt his chest ache with sorrow at the micro expression and then it was gone and Mycroft’s face was blank as it always was, tinged only with a light condescension. 

“I could never hate you Sherlock.” Mycroft said airily, standing and walking towards the door. “That would imply I think of you at all.”

The door shut behind him and Sherlock blinked as his body began to shake, pain running through him. He looked at the ceiling and was surprised by its white cleanliness. He didn’t know why. He tried to think of what had happened - how his brother had found him - but he could only remember a writhing mass beneath him, pleasure in his gut, and seagulls overhead, flying south.


End file.
